


Drabbles

by Accio_Me



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Being Hunted, F/M, Friendship, M/M, Other, Shopping, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), Writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Accio_Me/pseuds/Accio_Me
Summary: This is a collection of drabbles, meaning the stories will range from 300 to 1000 words.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She was alone. All she had was her name, her pride and her house-elf.

**Honour**

With her sleek black hair always pulled back from her aristocratic face, and her arched eyebrows and full lashes perfectly framing her dark blue eyes, Elladora Black was an impressive young woman. She bore a beauty so rare and precious that many pure-blooded families had been in dialogue with her father, the Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

She was his jewel, his most valuable treasure, and she would have the honour of following the line of the purest wizards and witches to have walked on earth. She was so precious to him that he sent every aspirant away, never fully satisfied. He was sure that she deserved the best and that was what she would get – _the best_.

And so Elladora watched one handsome man after the other leave her home, never once glancing her way. She had learned at a very young age to school her features, to never show what was going on on the inside. Head held high and spine straight, she remained stone-faced as she watched the chances vanish before her very eyes.

“You will marry once your father has found a suitable husband for you,” her mother continuously said whenever she would send away her maid and insisted on helping her daughter get dressed. “You will get the best man there is, as you deserve nothing less but the best.”

And so the years went by and the suitors got fewer and further apart.

She watched her brother Phineas get betrothed and move into his own house. She watched her sister Iola fall in love with a Muggle and get hexed off the family tree once she was of age and her parents could throw her out of the house without having to fear gossip. She watched her parents get more tired with each day as she got older and older, until she was the only one left in the family home of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

By that time she had reached an age that made it nearly impossible to find a husband. She had spent years silently cursing his father of being so picky, but as more and more men left their house, she had come to accept her fate – she would never marry, she would never bear her husband’s children, she would forever lead a life in loneliness and solitude.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she heard yet another loud clangour coming from the kitchens. She sighed, delicate fingers rising to massage the bridge of her straight nose. Tippy had been a house-elf in the services of her family ever since she could remember, but lately his mistakes were getting more frequent, making her either repair or replace whole sets of kitchen ware or porcelain. He was getting old and, with a sad feeling settling in the pit of her stomach, she accepted the fact that he was way beyond retirement.

Tippy was the only house-elf left from the old troop of five that had served her parents when they had still been alive. She had had watched them all die while she was sitting at home, alone and isolated from the world. Tippy, however, had always been by her side, had always made sure that she would not forget who she was and would go out every once in a while, accepting invitations that were still being sent to her even after her father’s death.

She would never admit it to anyone of her acquaintances, but throughout the years spent in the dark and old house, she had grown rather fond of the old elf.

“Tippy is disconsolate, Mistress Black,” the weak voice wafted through the air. A couple of seconds later a very old elf stumbled into the room and bowed deep. Quiet cracks echoed through the room as the elf’s spine bent. “Tippy will make sure that this never happens again, Mistress.”

Elladora closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. She forced herself to see the facts – the elf hovering in the doorway was way too old to do any household chores. The problem was that she couldn’t set him free either as he had been a part of her household for decades, seeing things and hearing things that should never reach foreign ears.

Her father had given the old and unusable elves a small cup filled with poisoned tea, getting rid of them in an honourable manner that had the elves bow deep and thank their Master for his mercy.

She knew, though, that she couldn’t poison dear old Tippy. Just thinking about it had her stomach in knots and bile rising up her throat.

She didn’t want to let him go. She always wanted to have him by her side, to always be reminded of how loyal a servant and companion he had been.

Elladora ran a pale hand over her dark hair, smoothing it to make sure that no strand fell out and showed the world how much it cost her to address this subject. “Tippy,” she said, beckoning him towards her. “I fear that it is time for your retirement.”

Tippy’s green eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he bowed down and nodded sadly. “Tippy has to agree with Mistress Black, Ma’am. Tippy cannot be of good use to Mistress Black anymore, he is afraid.”

“You have been a very loyal and good servant, Tippy, and I speak in the name of the Black family when I say that it has been an honour having you,” she forced her voice to stay strong as she slowly pulled her wand out of the folds of her skirt.

“Tippy is very thankful for your words, Mistress,” tears gathered in his big eyes as he looked up at his owner. “It has been an honour, Ma’am.”

And with that, Elladora Black whipped her wand through the air in one swift motion, separating the elf’s head from his body.

Tippy would never leave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...and dear Aunt Elladora… she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays..." - Sirius Black, HP5


	2. Lost Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They live in a prison. They live to feel other people's happiness. Because they are completely empty inside.

**Lost Happiness**

Cold. Quiet. Dead.

The corridors were dark, shadows looming in the corners, moving from cell to cell. An ominous rattling sound followed them everywhere as they floated through the dark and empty hallways of Azkaban Prison.

The prisoners inside the cells had long ago stopped screaming, happy memories sucked out of their bodies, leaving their souls behind bare and empty, vulnerable for anyone who wanted to harm them.

With each inhale, the dark creatures sucked the life out of their surroundings - or what was left of it. For centuries, wizards and witches described them as soul-stealing demons, ripping away all life and happiness that was in the world; that made the world worth living in. They were empty creatures; parents whispered into their children’s ears, to be kept at a distance and to be controlled to keep mankind safe.

The guard sitting at the desk near the entrance to the high security wing of the prison shivered as a Dementor floated past him. It greedily sucked in all the air it could, hoping for, needing something, _anything_ to feed on, but everything remained dead.

It had been a while since the last prisoner had been brought into their territory. It had been a while since they had last felt what it was like to live. They needed more. They needed emotions; they needed the happiness and excitement, they needed the pain and the fear. 

The guards were switched daily, no one stayed longer than half a day, always under the protection of the happiness charm. They would dislike it strongly if they had been able to think about aversion and disgust. All they could do was shy away when confronted with a feeling so overwhelmingly _powerful_ that it filled them within mere seconds. It flooded their system, drowned every part of their being and pushed the knowledge onto them that they would never have that.

A crackling sound echoed through the walls, closely followed by a _gong_. A new source was being transferred to the high security part of the prison.

The guard winced and his hands flew to his ears. He blinked rapidly as he saw the protective charm flicker around his small office space, pulling the Dementors towards the entrance like a magnet does nails. With a quick wave of his wand the wards stabilised again, stopping the beasts from floating closer. A drop of sweat slid down his back. 

Warmth. They could feel warmth seep out of the cracks in the protective wall the human had erected around himself, but before they could let it pull them in it was gone again.

The heavy gate rattled loudly, and the chain near the wall started moving. Five Aurors dressed in maroon robes marched past the gateway, leading a man into the cold interior of the prison. The new man’s eyes jumped from one end of the hall to the other, frantically looking for them. They could feel his fear through the echoes of the protective charms the Aurors had surrounded themselves with, yet nothing was keeping them from tasting him. No charm pushed them away from the deliciously emotional human in their midth.

The two Aurors at the front of the small succession nodded at the guard and moved past the gate, the new prisoner securely held at wand point.

A coldness as harsh as the man had ever felt suddenly swallowed everything around them, making the guard wave his wand again to ensure that his protection would withstand what was about to come. The Aurors did the same movement, protecting themselves from the shadows that crept through the corridors towards them.

“No,” the new prisoner whispered as his eyes got bigger the more Dementors they detected. “No! NO! Please! _Please, NO_!”

Dark creatures were swarming the entrance space of the high security wing of Azkaban Prison, eager to feast on the new happiness that was hidden behind the despair and fear leaking out of this human being. Warmth filled them as the knowledge of what the new arrival had done flooded through their beings, human memories bombarding their lost souls. He would never hurt anybody ever again. He would get his punishment. He would get to know how it felt when you were sucked empty, when you were hollow and wanting, _needing_ something, _anything_ to feel again. He would get to know what it felt like to not feel anything. Like they did, like his victims did.

Quickly, the prisoner’s expression froze. His muscles slacked, his lips turned downward and the light in his eyes dimmed until they, as well, were closer to death than life.

The Dementors sucked in the air around the shivering man in vain hope to catch one glimpse, one flicker of emotions, but he was hollow; just like they always had been.

The wizards waved their wands, producing bright wafts of light, shooting painful happiness and love their way, forcing them back into the shadows of the prison. 

They would never feel that much happiness, that many emotions. They would always remain hollow shells that leeched on to what little humanity they could find.


	3. Tapestry Embarrassment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phineas Black thought the spelling of his name was obvious. Well, apparently it wasn't.

**Tapestry Embarrassment**

“I cannot believe it.”

Phineas scowled into his cup of steaming black tea. He had refused the offered milk and started to regret it as he solemnly stared into the dark brew.

“Come now, Phineas, this isn’t the end of the world,” his aunt Iola said as she cautiously sipped the hot beverage. “I am sure it can be fixed.”

“No, it can’t be fixed, and yes, this _is_ the end of the world. Belvina laughed so hard she very nearly fainted and that would have gotten _me_ in trouble. Sirius won’t let me hear the end of it, Cygnus is just smug it wasn’t him and Arcturus keeps saying I deserve it. What is there to deserve if that imbecile of a tapestry wizard is not capable of spelling normal names right?”

Phineas set his tea cup onto the low coffee table in front of him and threw himself against the backrest of the upholstered chair. “This is _embarrassing_ , Aunt Iola! Can you imagine what mother’s acquaintances will say when they see that disaster of a family tree?”

“I’m the wrong person to complain to, Phineas. I’ve been blasted off that disaster of a family tree when I turned seventeen.”

The young Black blinked, clearly taken aback. “Sorry, I forgot about that.”

“You _always_ forget about that, love,” the black-haired woman smirked unlady-like and continued to calmly sip her tea. She didn’t seem flustered at all by the rumbustious behaviour of her devastated nephew. If she was honest with herself, she found the whole thing highly amusing.

“What does your father say about this? Did he talk to the tapestry wizard?”

“You haven’t heard the worst thing yet,” Phineas scrambled to sit up right and stared his aunt straight in the eyes. A delicate eyebrow rose slightly towards her hair line. “He messed up father’s name as well!”

“ _No_ , he did _not_!”

“He did _too_ ,” Phineas nodded, eyes wide. “He spelled father’s name the same exact way as he did mine.”

“He must have used a copying spell then,” she mused, tapping her pointer finger against her sharp chin. “Not very good practice for a respectable tapestry wizard, if I’m completely honest.”

“That’s exactly the point! Father was _horrified_ when he saw the new family tree. He’s spent a good part of the family’s fortune on that thing and to have it have not only one but _two_ spelling errors? You would think, considering his job, Mr Collingwood would be capable of spelling names correctly.”

Iola sighed and waved her wand over her nephew’s cold cup of tea, heating it up again.

“Just having the names written wrong would be bad enough as it is,” the young Black said as he bent over to reach for the milk. “He also gave my depiction a red hat.”

Iola threw her head back and started laughing hysterically.

“I look horrible in red,” Phineas grumbled as his cheeks started heating up. “It’s like he’s had it out for me.”

“Oh dear, now _that_ is something you _can_ fix. Mine was blue at the beginning and I had mother change it to red.”

“You don’t seriously think if I ask either mother or father to change the colour of the bloody hat that they’d actually do that,” he said, shaking his head. “Father would probably curse me if I dared to speak to him concerning something as _minor_ as a colour, if there’s something as _major_ as the respect others have for our family that is on the line here.”

He took a sip of tea and sighed deeply as the warm liquid ran down his throat. “But it comes even worse!”

“It’s still getting worse, isn’t it?” Iola mumbled into her cup, amused at her nephew’s indignance.

Phineas nodded. “I can’t even set the darn thing on fire. Father would instantly disown me.”

“Being disowned isn’t as bad as everyone makes it out to be. There are no obligations anymore, and you can do what _you_ want and not what is best for the family,” Iola said with a knowing smile.

“Well,” Phineas sniffed as he gazed out the window, “might as well do it then. Would save me the constant embarrassment....”


	4. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few more metres… He could see the meadow!

**The Hunt**

His feet were pounding on the frozen floor, the heavy rain hitting his face like knives, aggravating the tender skin the faster he ran. His breathing was too fast, too shallow, and his heart was pounding as if it was ready to jump out of his chest at any moment. A sharp pain cut into his side, and he gasped, wincing, yet forcing himself to continue to run, always run, faster and faster.

He didn’t have his wand on him. He still cursed himself for his tardiness as it could allow them to destroy it. He didn’t have anything to defend him with; nothing but his fists, courage and the slight glimmer of hope still hanging in there, too stubborn to leave.

They were all dead. He could still see their horrified eyes stare straight at him as they were being tortured again and again until their screams just stopped. It was as if nothing had happened to them, except for the emptiness in their eyes as they stared straight through him. Manic laughter, a broken scream and green light.

They were gone. They were all gone.

His foot caught on a root, making him stumble and nearly lose his momentum. _No_ , he couldn’t think about them, he needed to run! They weren’t that far behind him, he could hear their laughter and their yells, could hear their hexes and curses hit trees and set bushes on fire.

He needed to make it to the Apparition point, and then he would be safe. He would be able to get help, to make sure that the rest didn’t end up like his family had.

Tears ran down his cheeks and mixed with the wetness from the rain. His lungs were burning and his feet were getting slower. He could see the small meadow in between the trees. He needed to get to Andromeda. He needed her to leave that house and he needed her with him, by his side, never out of his sight!

He ducked as a bright red curse crashed into the tree trunk right next to him, bark exploded off of it and flew into his face. Warm droplets of blood started dripping down his already wet face, as he forced his legs to move faster.

They were insane! They were all insane! To think that his beautiful, loving Andy grew up with them and still had to live in her parents’ house until marriage… He didn’t care anymore about what she said, how they should be cautious, how they should take their time in telling her parents. He wouldn’t tell them anything. He needed her out of that house and safely in his arms, and away from all that horror…

A hex hit him in the back, causing him to slip and hit the wet forest ground. His spine was burning, his lungs and legs were on fire. He cried out as he tried to move. He had to get up! He had to get up now and he had to get to Andromeda! He wasn’t safe, _she_ wasn’t safe, the _whole damn world wasn’t safe_!

A loud cackle right behind him caused adrenaline to shoot through every vein in his body, and he jumped up, ignoring his screaming body. Curses of various colours shot past him, cut into his legs and arms, but he kept running, faster and faster.

The meadow was a few metres away. 

He could do it!

They were closing in. Loud pops and cracks told him that more and more Death Eaters were joining their hunt, probably being sick of torturing and killing innocent Muggles.

He couldn’t breathe anymore, he couldn’t run anymore, but he didn’t need to. He had reached the Apparition point at the exact right moment.

Huffing, he slithered to a stop, his destination already taking form in his mind. Loud screams echoed off the trees surrounding the small patch of saving grass. 

The last thing he saw before he Disapparated were a dozen streaks of bright green light shooting towards his chest.


	5. The Seventh Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He just wanted to get out of that godforsaken house.

**The Seventh Black**

His feet hit the wooden stairs with loud bangs as he ran up the stairs into his room. He needed to get out. Now. He wouldn’t stay in this godforsaken hell hole longer than absolutely needed.

He kicked the door to his room closed behind him, ensuring further feeding his mother’s wrath. He didn’t care. He could still smell the stinging hex eating through the expensive fabric of the Black family’s pedigree hanging on the wall of the lounge. His mother’s cold eyes glaring his way, a satisfied aura surrounding her as she pointed her wand at her son.

He stalked over to his wardrobe and ripped open its heavy doors. He grabbed everything he could get his hands on, throwing it all into his trunk that stood in the middle of the room. He had always joked about his mother disowning him if he continued being a rebel and kept being true to himself, but jokes aside – he had always silently, or loudly, waited for her to make true to her threats.

And that time was now.

He threw the closet doors shut once it was emptied, and moved onto the picture frames he had stuck onto the wall. James, Remus and Peter grinned up at him as he cast the counter sticking charm and gently placed them on top of the heap of his clothes. Small trinkets like chocolate frog cards or drafts for the early versions of the Marauder’s Map were thrown in afterwards. He wasn’t worried about them being damaged or crinkled, he just didn’t want his so-called mother to see any of what his life really was like.

The only things that he allowed to remain in the room he had spent most of his childhood in were Muggle posters depicting hotties in bikinis or panties, hands strategically placed in front of their upper chests, as well as various Gryffindor flags he had picked up at each Gryffindor Quidditch match.

His younger self had wanted to cover the dark and depressing wallpaper with the bright red and gold, showing his family what he thought of their way of thinking and living. Every single time he had entered his room after yet another year at Hogwarts, he had congratulated himself, seeing that his hag of a mother had not been successful in ripping his chosen decorations off the walls. He had wanted that constant mocking of what he thought of them. He never wanted them to forget that he would not bow down to any dark wizards or their point of view, no matter where or how old he was.

Never.

He pushed the lid of the trunk shut and charmed it shut. He needed to hurry. It was nearing midnight and he didn’t want to wake the Potters up by showing up at their house in the middle of the night, unannounced, with his belongings in tow, disowned and homeless. He’d show up at their manor in the middle of the night anyway, but it would be way less awkward if at least one of them was still awake when he arrived.

He grabbed the handle of his trunk and dragged it out of his room. At the top of the stairs, he thought better of it and quickly sent a locking charm towards his room’s door. It wasn’t strong enough to keep them out of it for long, but it would certainly succeed in pissing them off.

Dragging his trunk down the stairs behind him, making sure it hit every single stair and caused a ruckus in the middle of the night, he marched towards the front door.

“YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK!”

He groaned loudly as his mother threw open the door to the lounge and stalked towards him. “I’m no longer part of the House of Black, or have you already forgotten that?”

_Slap._

Sirius ground his teeth and forced himself to stay calm. He’d be out of here soon enough, and he would never have to come back. _Breathe, buddy. Breathe._

“Get out of the house!” the woman who birthed him hissed at him and pointed towards the black front door. “I don’t want to see you ever again!”

“That feeling is completely mutual,” Sirius smirked at the enraged woman in front of him, grabbed his trunk and opened the door. He left the prison of his childhood without looking back.

A loud _crack_ announced his presence to the inhabitants of the huge white manor at the end of the path. Fleamont Potter had keyed him into the wards some time ago, telling him he would always be welcome to come by unannounced, just as he was doing right now.

His trunk was digging deep tracks into the softened ground as he trudged through the rain. He really hoped that the Potters would help him. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do, where he was supposed to go if they wouldn’t.

Reaching the big double front door, he took a deep, calming breath, and raised a trembling hand to knock on the wood. Not twenty seconds later, the left door creaked open and the surprised face of James Potter peeked out into the dark.

“Padfoot?” He sounded confused, his eyebrows drawing together as he pulled the door further open. His intelligent eyes caught sight of his friend’s appearance – cheek red, jacket open and trunk in hand. A sad smile tugged at his lips as he nodded knowingly, and motioned his brother inside.

“Come on in, mate.”


	6. You Shall Treat Others Like You Want To Be Treated Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom Riddle was a shy little boy, always being bullied and shunned. This drabble proves that you have to be careful with what you tell kids...

**You Shall Treat Others Like You Want To Be Treated Yourself**

Laughter followed him as he ran out of the orphanage. He hated that place. He hated that everybody bullied him. He hated that his mum had given him away without getting to know him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? Well, he had to have done something wrong because, otherwise, why would everybody be so mean to him?

He sniffed and came to a stop behind a tall tree which he always ran to whenever Jordan and the others were in the mood to let off some steam - using him as a punching bag. Sister Mary and Sister Josephine were nowhere to be seen. Every time that they were busy with work for the church, the others would use the opportunity to pick on him.

Tom raised his hand to his mouth and started biting his nails. It was a nervous habit he had, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. Sister Josephine yelled at him every time she saw him nibble on his nails, and forced even more chores on him, which caused the others to laugh at him.

No matter what he did, he always got in trouble for it. He even lost his only toy, a wooden car he had found on the streets, to Jordan and his gang, and Sister Mary had merely told him to man up and forget about it. He didn’t want to forget about it! It was his favourite! He still missed it to this day; Jordan had broken it over three months ago.

He was the only one who had grown up in the orphanage, so he felt like Sisters Mary and Josephine should be on his side and support him, instead of tolerating the bad behaviour of the other boys, because that’s what it was - _bad behaviour_!

Father Clarence always preached that you had to be kind to others and treat them like you wanted to be treated. Did that mean that Jordan wanted him to fight back? Did that mean that he wanted him to bully him and make fun of him? To ruin his life on a daily basis?

Tom frowned at a bird that had landed on a branch above his head. It chirped happily, oblivious of the boy watching it intently.

Yes, maybe that was what Jordan wanted after all and Tom just hadn’t understood him before. After all, Father Clarence said to pay attention to each other, to stick together, and help each other out. If Jordan really wanted to be treated like he treated Tom, he would help him in that regard.

Tom wiped away the tears that had run down his face. He would surely have bruises by the morning from the books that had been thrown at him. But those would only add to the others.

Sister Josephine always said that he had to be more careful. She had always said that his rambunctious ways gave him bruises because it was God’s way to punish him. He deserved them for being so out of control.

He saw that now. He accepted that he truly deserved them if he had done the exact opposite from what Father Clarence had preached. He swore he would be a good boy now.

Tom looked back up at the bird. Maybe he should practice beforehand? He wouldn’t want to be laughed at again for being unable to act like Jordan. He glanced at the ground, looking for something he could throw. A twig or something… ah, a stone! 

Tom bent down and cautiously picked up the stone. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked, he mused as he weighed it in his hand. He would be perfectly fine to throw it without having it fall back down and cause yet another bump he’d get in trouble for getting.

Raising his head, he aimed at the bird, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and swung his arm back. The stone flew through the air in a hyperbole track and smacked against the bird’s right wing.

It shrieked loudly and hopped further up the branch and away from the boy standing underneath it, eyeing it curiously. It flapped his wings weakly, as if to give it a trial if it would work but the right wing wasn’t moving as it should.

Tom tilted his head and hummed. Yes, he could do this. Jordan and his gang would never laugh at him ever again.

He bent down to pick up yet another, bigger stone and turned to the front door of the orphanage where the other orphan boys were already waiting for him.


	7. Twiggy Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, another night of running around as a dog. Not good for his looks.

**Twiggy Awakening**

Sirius cursed loudly as he pulled himself off of the ground that he had been lying on. No matter how much they always said that they enjoyed the monthly outings as Animagi, he had to admit that it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling once he turned back after the moon had set.

Running through the Forbidden Forest in their animal forms was liberating and exhilarating, paws pounding over the dry ground, pushing his body through shrubs and bushes. Those shrubs and bushes, however, tended to leave behind scratches and bruises on his body that he couldn’t always hide.

He didn’t know how they had managed to keep this whole thing a secret up until now, judging by how they sometimes looked as if they had been the lone survivors of an ambush. Somehow, nobody had suspected anything. Well, nobody except for Lily Evans, but it was near impossible to keep anything from that spookily brilliant mind of hers, so she didn’t count.

James would beg to differ, but he wasn’t there right then and he couldn’t look into Sirius’ mind anyway, so why bother?

Sirius slowly stretched and groaned as his joints cracked loudly. “Blimey, I sound like an old man,” he muttered and secretly thanked Merlin himself that he had decided against joining Remus’ transformation back into a human. Once in a while either he, James, or Peter would stay outside of the Shrieking Shack, keeping a lookout for rule-breakers strolling through the grounds of Hogwarts.

That one close call with Snivellus was enough fright, anger, and embarrassment for a lifetime. He didn’t need more of that.

As the first rays of sunlight illuminated the sleeping willow disguising the entrance to the shack, three figures emerged from the hole in between its roots and came over to him. Two were supporting the third that was limping and cursing every now and then.

“Damn, Padfoot, you look…”

“Beautiful. I know. Can we move on?” he hissed, annoyed. He didn’t need his friends to tell him that he had twigs stuck in his dirt-matted hair and was covered in scratches from top to bottom. He knew it wasn’t doing _anything_ for his looks.

“I really don’t want to be caught and having to explain _this_ ,” he said and tugged at his soiled clothes as if to underline his point. 

Peter snickered and earned himself a withering look from Sirius.

“Yeah, let’s go,” James agreed and readjusted his hold on his friend. “We need to get Remus to the Hospital Wing. Moony was a bit unbalanced yesterday just before the moon set and he kind of went berserk. Don’t worry,” he hurriedly added as Sirius opened his mouth, eyes big and panicked. “Wormtail would’ve called you if I didn’t have him under control. I might need some of that muscle relaxant that you brewed last month, though, Padfoot. I think some muscle in my neck ripped that wasn’t supposed to rip.”

Sirius winced and motioned to a heavily sweating Peter to leave Remus to him. He moved over, grabbed his injured friend’s arm, and slung it around his neck.

“Thank you, guys,” Remus whispered softly as the small group of friends started towards the castle. James and Sirius did all the walking, supporting their friend fully.

“Don’t mention it, mate,” James muttered and squeezed his arm gently. “you can always count on us.”

“I know.” Remus hissed as his foot caught on a tuft of grass. “I know.”


	8. Night Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working at a hospital as a healer meant helping people and saving lives. It also meant being helpless sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hippocrates Smethwyck (invented the snake venom antidote that saved Arthur Weasley’s life in HP5)

**Night Shift**

Hippocrates Smethwyck took a deep breath as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. It had been a long and exhausting night. Everything hurt - his back was screaming, his head pounding, and his whole body was still tingling from the last bits of adrenaline that had just started leaving his bloodstream.

It was the end of his shift and he was ready for a shower. His hair was sticking to his neck, having darkened slightly due to the added moisture, and all the joy had vanished from his gentle grey eyes.

He was one out of three healers that had been on the night shift at St Mungo’s Hospital For Magical Maladies and Injuries, and no matter how often he told himself that he liked night shifts, this one had been a full-on nightmare.

It had all started thirty-three minutes after he had started his shift. He had been on his first round, greeting patients on the ward for creature-induced injuries and had been busy looking over an old man who had been stung by a cursed wasp, when a blonde nurse had bolted into the room, panting.

_“We need you in the ER. Now.”_

_Smethwyck did not waste one second as he mumbled a hurried excuse and rushed out of the room, the nurse close on his heels._

_“What have we got?” he asked as soon as he pushed open the doors, wand already in hand._

_“Snakebite. Looks to be venomous,” a male nurse answered, who was busy trying to stop the bleeding. The tag on his robes said ‘Nurse Harris.’_

_A woman in her twenties was lying on the stretcher. Someone had cut open her trousers, revealing a big, open wound, oozing with blood. Dark blue lines were rapidly creeping towards her heart._

It’s definitely venomous _, Healer Smethwyck thought as he quickly joined the nurse. “When did this happen?”_

_“I don’t know, sir,” Harris answered, panic clear in his blue eyes. “She Apparated straight into the entrance hall and collapsed when her feet touched the ground. She’s been unresponsive ever since.”_

That’s not good _. Smethwyck winced and quickly waved his wand over his unconscious patient. “We need to stabilise her now, otherwise we’ll lose her!”_

_They worked frantically. Nurses ran out of the room, only to be swapped out by others. Wands were waved through the air hectically, incantations muttered, charms cast. The time went by too quickly as the hospital’s patients slowly fell asleep and the moon shone its light discreetly into the hospital’s hallways._

_If one were to look outside, they would have noticed an owl hooting softly before flying away on its nightly hunt, and a gentle breeze drifted through the air, softly moving the leaves on the trees outside._

_Inside the emergency room, however, the lighting was anything but soft, the atmosphere anything but peaceful, as adrenaline was practically noticeable just by walking into the room._

_“She’s losing too much blood,” Smethwyck mumbled as he felt himself fall into the routine that he had early on been fascinated by. The first time he had entered this trance-like state had been in one of his first Care of Magical Creatures classes when they had learned how to treat an injured Pygmy Puff. Seeing the small creature gain trust in him until it let him nurse its leg had been life-changing. He had known from that moment on that he wanted to help make the world a better place. Something in him had told him that he would be able to._

_“She’s flat-lining!”_

_The yell from a female nurse ripped Healer Smethwyck out of his thoughts and threw him back into reality. The first thing he saw was blood, the second thing he noticed was the chilling sound of one loud, continuous beep._

_It was too late. She was gone._

_Healer Smethwyck stood up slowly and glanced at the clock, forcing himself to not let this get through to him._

_8:14 am._

_The day had barely even started and already one life had been lost._

“Sir?”

Smethwyck blinked and turned around. The blonde nurse from earlier stood in the doorway, looking at him worriedly. “Are you alright?” 

“What? Oh, yes,” Smethwyck forced a smile on his lips and nodded softly. “Yes, I’m alright, thank you. Is there anything you needed?”

“Well,” the nurse hesitantly stepped inside and pulled out a sheet of paper. “You need to sign the death certificate.”

Another sigh escaped Smethwyck as he reached forward and read through the document. “Time of death, 8:14 am,” he mumbled to himself, his grey eyes staring at the time.

“Way too early.”


	9. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They knew what was expected of them. That didn't mean they'd have to follow through with that, though.

**Together**

It was dark in their dormitory and apart from Draco and Blaise, all of the other sixth-year students were sleeping peacefully. It felt like just any other night, and for the rest of the house it probably was just that, but for the two insomniac Slytherins, it wasn’t. This night was anything but normal.

“I don’t like this, Draco,” Blaise said as he pulled his blanket tighter around him. They were sitting on their beds, the curtains open. “I really don’t like this.”

“Do you think that _I_ do? Don’t be ridiculous.” Draco huffed and shifted from side to side to get more comfortable. His hand was still holding the letter he had received earlier that evening. It was a short one, written in haste and sent off immediately, as if to avoid the owl post at breakfast. In fact, Agrippa, Draco’s barn owl, had intercepted them when they had been on their way back from dinner. Only Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass had been in the corridor with them at the time, but neither had deemed them a single glance.

Blaise raised his head and started playing with a curl at the nape of his neck. It was a nervous habit of his, one his mother wanted him to get rid of, but that wasn’t an easy task to accomplish. “What will you do?”

Draco let out a soft groan and scooted back to rest against the headboard of his bed. “Why do you always have to ask questions that are impossible to answer?”

“I was just asking.” The Zabini heir moved forward slightly, knees touching the edge of his mattress. “We should both think about that question because we know that it’s just a matter of time until _my_ father sends me that exact same message. For all we know, he could be writing the letter right now.”

Silence followed the boy’s worried words as the two friends were lost in their own thoughts. After a few quiet minutes in which only the occasional snore of a dorm mate could be heard, Draco let out a frustrated sigh. Blaise could see the artificial moonlight reflect on his pale face as his friend turned back to the letter in his hands.

“I really don’t know, Blaise,” he said softly, sounding almost vulnerable. “I mean, I get it. He’s been preparing me all my life, but… Ugh, I don’t know.”

“No, I understand.”

Draco looked up, clearly surprised at his friend’s compassion.

“My father’s been telling me my whole life that I’m destined to be a part of something big, that I will become one of the most powerful wizards that have ever lived.” Blaise scoffed as he thought back to one particular moment of his childhood. “When I was a kid - I don’t know how old I was, maybe eight or nine years old? - I used to imagine what it would be like. I used to think it would be so _cool_ to wear one of those cloaks, get your own personalised mask and join _His_ ranks. I used to be really excited, but I never really believed my father when he said all of those things.”

Blaise looked down at his hands. “I never thought it would be real one day.”

After a few minutes of silence, he felt the mattress next to him dip down slightly as the blond crawled onto his bed. “We have to decide soon, Blaise,” he said softly before he placed his father’s letter into his friend’s lap. 

Blaise, who was still looking down, caught the first few words without meaning to. They sent a horrified shudder down his spine.

_Son, it is time._

It scared him to no end. the Dark Lord scared him, his followers and their actions scared him, and he was scared to admit that he didn’t want anything to do with any of it. Because he knew that if he were to admit exactly that, if he were to tell his father that he would not become a Death Eater… He’d be dead. He’d be disowned and then hunted down until the day he died.

“What will you do?” Blaise asked the blond as he raised his head and looked at his friend. “What will you tell him?”

“Honestly?” Draco sighed and looked at the letter that was still resting in Blaise’s lab. “I just want to run away. I… I don’t want to kiss a murderer’s dirty boots and do His every bidding until either He or I die. That’s not what I’ve envisioned my life to be. But,” he looked up and into his friend’s wide, frightened eyes, “but I know that it’ll be dangerous, and probably the stupidest thing I will ever do in my life. But _this_ ,” he reached for the letter and waved it through the air, “ _this_ is wrong. And I’ve never been someone to sign up for failure.”

Blaise blinked at the sixteen-year-old boy in front of him, with his grey eyes determined and his head held high, and couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration course through him.

He slowly shook his head, still trying to comprehend what they had just decided to do. “We’re really doing it, aren’t we? Running away?”

Draco’s lips pulled up into a wide grin that had a slight manic touch to it. “It will probably kill us, but hey. We’re young and life is boring. Why not do something stupid?”

“Together.”

Draco smiled. “Together.”


	10. Totally Smitten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was lost. Forever lost. And he was happy about it. Sirius would call him bonkers but James didn't care. He loved that witch and he'd do anything to make her happy. Even if that meant to spend most of his Saturday afternoon on an incredibly uncomfortable plastic chair with... certain issues...

**Totally Smitten**

He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this. He couldn’t even decide whether this was something positive or negative. It certainly _felt_ like a weird mixture between the two but his brain told him that it was supposed to be a good thing. It might be because of the general differences between males and females but even that he couldn’t know for certain. Sirius, after all, would most likely love this.

For the last three hours, he had been kept hostage on this incredibly uncomfortable plastic chair in a random Muggle shop somewhere in London. When he had asked Lily if she’d wanted to accompany him to his parents’ annual Christmas ball, she had said yes. He still couldn’t quite believe it, even after having told her that he meant it to be a date and she still hadn’t slapped him across the face.

It seemed like their friendship was evolving into something more, and there was no reason why he would try to stop that from happening. He had waited all his life for this moment, the moment to take his girl on a proper date… Even if that date was in the same house he lived in with his parents and their friends hovering around every corner, asking embarrassing questions. Okay, now that he thought about it, it might not have been the most brilliant idea he had come up with, but a date was a date, no matter who would see them.

At least he hoped so.

Merlin, he _really_ didn’t want his mother to gush about how adorable he had been as a toddler, or his father to tell her that one story with the fork…

A shudder ran down his spine. Ugh, please Merlin, Morgana, Muggle God, and whoever else was up or down there - he didn’t care at this point. Please, let this evening be enjoyable without any holes that opened up beneath him. He didn’t need embarrassing aunts dying to tell the girl he adored how he had once made a mess in his pants when he had been four years old after having been pranked by his uncle. Not that that would be true - because it wasn’t - but still. The point had been made.

He swallowed a groan as he shifted his weight from one side to the other. This chair was a disgrace to the genus ‘ _chair_ ’ and should have been burned, but never in the entire world would he outright complain about his situation at that moment.

Sirius might have called him bonkers but he loved every second his bum hurt. This pain meant that he would be taking Lily Evans to a ball, it meant he had a date with Lily Evans, and it meant that _Lily freaking Evans_ was currently hiding behind a plain curtain trying on dress after dress.

Honestly, he had lost count after the fourth dress, only being able to breathe and try to think of anything but her curves underneath the soft fabrics, her skin glowing in contrast to the stark colours, her hair so shiny that he wanted to...

_Quidditch statistics, Quidditch statistics, Quidditch statistics..._

He quickly peeked to his side where two elderly women were discussing which jacket to wear with the blouse one of them was carrying over her arm. Subtly, he adjusted the two jackets lying on his lap. Thankfully, they weren’t watching him which made him feel more relaxed.

If Lily were to ask him what his favourite dress was, he wouldn’t have been able to give her an answer. He loved everything she wore. For all he cared, she could have worn her pyjamas to the ball and she’d have looked incredible. Maybe even one of his Quidditch shirts, her panties, legs bare, and her delicate feet -

 _No_ , _get a grip, Potter!_ _Focus!_

“What do you think about this one?”

James jumped slightly at the voice coming from directly in front of him. His left eye twitched slightly as he saw her in yet another breathtaking dress and he could feel himself slowly losing control again.

“Beautiful,” he managed to croak out loud, hoping against all hope that she did not notice the way he was gripping their jackets.

“You think so?” She did a little twirl, nearly ending him then and there. “Hm, I don’t know. I think I’ll get the other one you liked.”

_The other one?_

“Wait, which one?” What other one? He liked every single one of the last twenty-something dresses he had carried to the changing rooms…

“The teal-coloured one.”

“The teal-coloured…” What in Merlin’s beard was _teal_?

Lily laughed at his confusion and he could see her cheeks darken beautifully. It was weird but somehow her blush highlighted her freckles even more. 

“Just go and put those back, will you? I’ll be right with you.”

Before he could do more than inhale, she had dumped a whole lot of dresses onto his lap. The hangers were poking him in odd places and he winced as he struggled to his feet. He couldn’t believe just how much Lily had him wrapped around her pinkie, but he didn’t care. He freaking loved that witch and would do anything to see her happy.

It wasn’t easy to juggle the masses of fabric, so he didn’t see the two elderly women giggle at the sight of him struggling with the dresses.

“Totally smitten, that one,” the shorter woman said, a gentle smile on her face. “The girl needs to marry him while she still has the chance. He’s a real catch.”


	11. The Struggles Of An Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Write a book, they said. It will be easy, they said. Yeah... it was everything but easy!

**The Struggles Of An Author**

Newt stared down at the piece of parchment in front of him. He wondered why and how on earth he had thought it would be a great idea to write a book. Well, he got the general _why_ because wizardkind just didn’t know how to handle magical creatures, let alone understand them, but this was way too much for him to do alone. On top of that, as if that wasn’t a big enough problem, he had absolutely no idea where to start.

His eyes lingered on the small brass pocket watch which his dad had gifted him before he had been expelled from Hogwarts. It was a bittersweet memory which reminded him why he was doing this and why he should keep going. 

After fourteen seconds of watching the small, delicately bent wire handle tick by, he gritted his teeth and turned back to the matter at hand. He picked up his quill, dunked it into his inkwell, and let the tip hover over the parchment. One drop of jet black ink dropped onto it, seeping into the imperfections of the material. Now it was even more obvious that he hadn’t managed to write anything yet - one empty piece of parchment with an ugly, drying ink mark on it.

His eyebrows drew together as he held his breath and forced his brain to work. He slowly closed his eyes, picturing small gears interconnected with each other and made them move. Their speed was slow but present so he opened his eyes again, feeling slightly hopeful.

After dipping his old quill into the ink one more time, he brought it down onto the paper and forced his hand to move and spell out the word _‘Introduction_.’ He had to start _somewhere_ and an introduction seemed like the perfect way to do so.

One word written, only one book minus one word to go! He felt good about this!

…

Who was he kidding? This was awful.

The falcon feather dropped to the wooden surface of the table as Newt buried his face in his hands. He wasn’t made for this! He belonged out there with his creatures, watching them, interacting with them, _studying_ them. He didn’t belong at this desk! 

_Oh, suck it up, Newt!_ he scolded himself and sat back up straight. _You’ve got this! You’ve managed to tame an Obscurus and put it into a protective bubble! You can do this!_

Right. Back to work. If his muse wouldn’t make an appearance out of its own accord, he’d have to force it. Now. The introduction. How should he go about this?

His eyes wandered through the room and an excited chill ran through his body as he saw his old, wavy, and very tattered notebook peeking out from underneath a whole stack of blank, yet to be filled parchment. He had been optimistic when he had ordered them the other day, back when he had still believed that merely writing down his findings would be just as easy as petting Frank. Oh, how naive he had been.

Eager to get a spark of inspiration, he reached for the leather-bound book and pulled the knot out of the strap wrapped around its spine. The notebook flipped open on his most worked-on page - a drawing of a Quintaped. He thumbed through the pages and activated the Elongation Charm embedded in every page to see the entirety of his notes. He hadn’t liked the idea of carrying around dozens of notebooks so he’d just _fused_ dozens of notebooks into one to save himself the trouble.

After about twenty minutes of flipping through pages upon pages of detailed descriptions without getting the inspiration - and motivation, who was he kidding? - he had hoped for, he snapped the book shut and threw it into the opposite corner of the room before lowering his head into the blotchy piece of parchment. This was hopeless. _He_ was hopeless.

He would never finish this book at this rate.

Back at school during Care of Magical Creatures, he had always dreamed of what it would be like if, one day, Hogwarts’ students were reading _his_ book and would use the information that _he_ had given them for their homework. Every time he had looked at that monstrosity that called itself ‘ _Magical Beasts And All You Need To Know About Them_ ’, he had felt anger rise within him. It hadn’t been everything they needed to know, it focused only on how to contain and control the _beasts_ instead of caring for and understanding them. 

Back then he had been sure he’d one day publish a proper school book, but now, sitting here at his desk, fighting the urge to rip his quill to shreds, he honestly wasn’t sure whether it was that easy anymore.

He sighed and sat up slowly. His forehead had smudged the ink stain over the top fourth of the page and probably over the entirety of his forehead and brow bone, but he couldn’t care any less. 

He _would_ write this book, even if that meant that he’d be stuck at this very desk for the next unforeseeable future. He didn’t care. He’d finish it!

He crumpled up the ruined parchment, picked up a new one from the humongous stack, and dipped his quill back into the inkwell before hesitating once more. 

Maybe he should ask Professor Dumbledore to write a foreword for this catastrophe of a book? Yes, he liked that idea. He’d send Albus an owl as soon as possible. Maybe then he’d be able to at least write a proper introduction.

After that day, it took Newt a further 418 days to finish his book and only 2 weeks for it to get published.


	12. We Belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hidden from rude comments and glares, Harry and Draco enjoy a lazy morning behind closed doors.

** We Belong **

The first thing he heard were the birds chirping outside the window. They sounded chipper and happy, and he couldn’t help but allow a lazy smile sneak onto his face as he slowly stretched himself. The soft sheets tickled his skin, and everything told him to just stay where he was and not move for the foreseeable future. His bladder, however, thought otherwise.

Slowly, _cautiously_ , he pushed the blanket off his body and forced his legs to move. A shudder ran through him as his naked feet touched the cold floor. He rushed out of the room, still wearing nothing but a big smile on his face and hurried into the bathroom. It felt like a true blessing to finally relieve himself. 

He hadn’t been someone who liked to sleep in. That wasn’t a luxury that he - in his early days - had been allowed. When he had gotten a place of his own, he hadn’t cherished it. He had always been an early bird, one who liked to get things done quickly so that he could start his day with new energy and zest of action.

Slowly, he walked over to the sink and turned on the tap. Warm water ran over his hands before he grabbed the soap which he had bought last week when they had first gone shopping together. It had been a weird but welcome experience; one he couldn’t wait to repeat. 

Although people usually sent them weird, and sometimes insulting, looks, as if they didn’t belong, he couldn’t care less. If there was one person that _did_ belong, it was Harry Potter. It didn’t matter if he chose to spend every one of his free minutes with Draco Malfoy or the Giant Squid. It wasn’t any of their business, so Harry didn’t think twice about it. It had taken him a long time to reach that point and, although Draco was still working on dealing with the glares and occasional random insults, he was improving almost daily, and Harry couldn’t be prouder.

After splashing some water in his face and drying off his hands, he silently rushed back out of the bathroom and through the bedroom, straight into the warm cocoon that was Draco’s massive bed. Its size was plain ridiculous, but his boyfriend was a bit eccentric, and who was Harry to judge?

Cautiously, as to not wake the other up, he slid closer to the sleeping wizard. Harry watched the blankets lifting slowly with every breath Draco took and he had to forcefully place his hands underneath his cheek to keep them from wandering.

Not even three minutes had passed before a soft sigh escaped the blond’s lips and he shuffled around on his side of the bed until he laid facing Harry. The latter bit his lip and suppressed the cooing that wanted to slip out. 

A sleeping Draco was, in Harry’s humble opinion, the cutest thing on planet Earth. His usually neat and perfectly styled hair was in complete disarray, his cheeks showed a pretty blush, and his breathing was soft. All in all, he looked… innocent. And peaceful. Knowing how many hateful comments Draco got daily, it was a blessing that at least in sleep he was entirely at peace. 

Completely lost in his boyfriend’s appearance, still blissfully happy with waking up beside him and slightly distracted by the memory of his hands all over his skin, Harry blinked as he heard a soft grunt and Draco’s annoyed voice.

“Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

Harry bit his lip to not laugh out loud, which resulted in him letting out an unattractive snort. 

“I noticed that,” he said happily and continued to take in the way the few rays of sunshine that had managed to sneak past the drawn curtains made the blond’s eyelashes glow.

Draco grumbled and pulled the blanket up higher. “Would you please stop staring, then? It’s creepy.”

“Creepy, you say?” 

Harry reached forward and finally allowed his itching fingers to run through the blond, soft hair. His fingernails scraped over the scalp, drawing a content purr from Draco as he stretched lazily and snuggled further into his pillow. Slowly, deliberately, Harry’s hand moved over the temple, travelling to the cheekbone and jawline as the Gryffindor marvelled at the silkiness of the pale skin underneath his touch.

If it were up to him, he could spend the rest of his days touching Draco, relishing and worshipping his body and skin, and be content and happy. He wouldn’t need anything else in life. This was where they were meant to be - not outside, facing the community’s stares and whispers, accepting the reporters’ jibes and rumours, but hidden behind walls and snuggled into blankets.

Just the two of them. Alone.

“I love you.”

The words had escaped Harry’s lips before he had had the time to think about them. They’d been together a couple of months now and, although they both knew how they were feeling, they’d never said it before. Harry had expected to feel his stomach drop and fear to wash over him whenever he would say those three words, but nothing of the like happened. He felt calm and relaxed. He was where he belonged, and the declaration felt right. There was no reason to worry.

Draco blinked his eyes open and looked at him. His grey irises glowed in the sunlight, making his gaze even more intense than it already was.

After a short moment of silence, Draco closed his eyes again. A content sigh escaped his lips as he reached forward and pulled Harry into a tight embrace.

“I love you too, you morning person,” he mumbled softly, one hand languishly sneaking down, dancing over Harry’s spine and sending jolts of electricity through his body. “And now, let me sleep.”

Harry chuckled and snuggled deeper into the warm embrace. They’d have all day to talk about what had just happened, but right now, he allowed themselves to simply belong.


	13. Idiots Like Pizza

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A warm afternoon in 1979, relaxing in the sun...

**Idiots Like Pizza**

The sun was shining on the meadow, birds were chirping happily in the background, and the humming of insects nearby gave the afternoon an even more relaxing atmosphere. It was a lazy Sunday in 1979 and right at this moment, James couldn’t think of one thing that could make his life any better.

He was here, lying on a soft blanket, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face, as he watched the most beautiful woman on earth read a book. That was it. He didn’t have a job, at least not one that was paying him any money, there was a war going on, friends and family dropping like flies left, right, and centre, but right now, he was content. He was _happy_.

A warm breeze ruffled his hair and pulled a couple of red strands out of Lily’s braids. They framed her face perfectly, one strand was slightly curly, while the other was nearly dead straight, and he felt a sense of sadness as she absentmindedly reached upwards to push them behind her ears. Her beautifully bright green eyes that were focussed on the pages in front of her narrowed slightly as she sucked in her bottom lip and bit it nervously. She must have just reached an exciting part of her novel, one he hoped would never end. If there was anything he loved more than a reading Lily, it would be a reading Lily biting her lip.

James didn’t know how long he lay there, just watching her, taking in every freckle, every small smile she was unaware of, but before he knew it, the breeze that kept pulling her hair out of the braid became cooler.

A soft mewl escaped her as she stretched and closed her book. “It’s late,” she said quietly before turning to him, a smile tugging at her lips. His stomach did a flip at the look in her eyes; warm, loving, solely for him. “Should we go home?”

“Yeah, let’s go home,” he said begrudgingly before standing up and offering her his hand. “Should we get takeaway tonight?”

“Oh, can we order pizza, please?” Lily exclaimed excitedly as he pulled out his wand and charmed the blanket to fold itself neatly into the basket next to it.

James scowled, causing the redhead to laugh. “My personal mission is to get you to like pizza, and believe me, I _will_ succeed, even if it is the last thing I do!”

“I doubt that you will ever manage that, love.” He sniffed and bent to pick up the basket. “I know Sirius caved and is now addicted, but he’s an idiot, so no big surprise there.”

“Are you calling people who like pizza idiots?” Her dark red eyebrows jumped up on her forehead and she looked at him expectantly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “I see, I see. Well, then I shouldn’t have much of a problem convincing you to like it.”

James stopped walking and looked at her. “And how’s that, exactly?”

“Well,” a devilish and _incredibly_ sexy smirk spread over her face as she winked at him, “we all know you’re an idiot, so we’ll have pizza for dinner!” And with that, she was gone, running over the grass, her cheerful laughter carrying his heart with her.

“ _Get back here, you cheeky little…_ ” James barked out a laugh before dropping the basket and morphing into his Animagus form. He’d catch up with her! He always did, and when he managed that, he wouldn’t let her out of his arms. Not because he wanted her close, no. Well, of course, he did, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t allowed anywhere near the phone.

He really hated pizza.


End file.
